Chapter 6
The fisherman, a primitive world's breed, The sum of Christian and of Satyr blood, Returning from his fruitful fishing path, Looked upon her as on an evil tempter And on a sacred image; and his oars Hung on his hands inert as palsy stricken, And the swift-winging bark stood like a rock; And, marble-like, the fisherman within Gazed with religious trembling and desire, Exclaiming as in trance: "O holy Virgin!"
AT THE WINDMILL
About the windmill, the old ruin, when The smile of dawn shines in its rosy tinge, The fisherboys now stir the silent air With sudden ringing shouts and joyful plays; And the light barks that, fastened, wait their coming, Flutter impatiently like flapping wings Of birds whose feet are bound. And all about, The lake-like sea revels in shimmers white Like a wide-open pearl shell on the beach.
About the windmill, the old ruin, when The noon's beams burn like red-hot iron bars, A laden sleep draws with its heavy breath All weary skippers and all mariners: The harpoons creak not in the hand's hard clasp; The fish alone stir in the realm of dew; The calm lagoon about is all agleam, A shield of silver, plaited with pure gold.
Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when The sun is setting, decked in all his glory, The boys go running, looking for pumice stones; And lads and lasses, for sweet furtive glances; And old men, lingering for memories. Old age is calm, and youth considerate. And the lagoon about, a purple glow, A garden thickly planted with blue gentians.
Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when The secret midnight glides by silently, Sea Nereids, brought on the wings of air From the sea caves of Fairies on their steeds Of mist with manes of radiating light, Sing songs, and bathe their diamond forms, and love, While round about the princess-like lagoon Wears as her royal robe the star-spun sky.
Far by the windmill, the old ruin, ere The smile of dawn shine with its rosy tinge, The hosts of tyrant slayers mount from below And kiss the earth war-nurtured and war-glad. They raise again the ruin to a castle With rifles singing back to victories; And the lagoon is full of flashes swift, Like a dark eye kindled with fiery wrath.
WHAT THE LAGOON SAYS
I have the sweetness of the lake and have The bitterness of the great sea. But now, Alas! my sweetness is a little drop; My bitterness, a flood. For the cold winter, The great corsair, has come with the north wind, Death's king. My azure blood has slowly flowed Out of my veins and gone to bring new life To the deep seas. A shroud weed-woven wraps me.
My little islands as my tombstones stand, And yonder well-built weirs are like young trees That droop above my grave bereft of water.
But even so in the death's cold clasp, I hear Within my breast a secret voiceless flutter Like the young fish's flurry when, transfixed, It is dragged by the spear out of the sea. For I still dream of the sweet breath of love, And wait for the hot summer's kiss and yours, O angels of good tidings and new life, Spring breezes, sources of my dreams and love!
PINKS
Fair pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul! Brown is the fisherman, and brown the land With the sea brine, the south wind, and the sun; And round the brown land's neck, like necklace Of coral, grow the pinks. Pinks of the gardens, And pinks of the windows; pinks like crowns and stars; Gifts good for any hand, and ornaments For any breast. O flowers blossoming In pleasant rows along the houses' stairs, You sprinkle each man's path with fragrances; And now and then, you bow, touched by the dress Of the young girl who, breeze-like, passes by.
Pinks full and pinks faint-colored; flowers that cause No languor as the roses nor refresh, Like jasmines, flesh and soul; but whose scent has Something of the sharp breath of the lagoon, Even when you are pale like fainting virgins, And even when a world-destroying fire Enflames your petals without burning you!
Pinks, that display now your form's nakedness Like children's bodies freshly bathed, and now The varied ornaments of senseless dwarfs, And now the purple of great emperors! All the transporting music of the red, Like that of many tuneful instruments, Springs from your heart and knows no end, but plays Before my eyes its lasting harmonies. Sweet pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul!
RUINS
I turned back to the golden haunts of childhood, And back on the white path of youth; I turned To see the wonder palace built for me Once by the holy hands of sacred Loves.
The path was hidden by the thorny briars; The golden haunts, burned by the midday sun; An earthquake brought the wonder palace low;
And now amidst the ruins and ashes, I Am left alone and palsy-stricken; snakes And lizards, pains and hatreds dwell now here In constant loathful brotherhood with me. An earthquake brought the wonder palace low!
PENELOPE
Wars distant, tempests wild, and foreign lands Keep thy life-mate for years and years away; Dangers and scornings threaten thee; and care With guile and wrath gird thee, Penelope.
About thee, enemies and revellers! But thou wilt hear, and look, and wait for none But him; and on thy loom thou weavest always And then unweavest the thread of thy true love, Penelope.
Than Europe's goods and Asia's Even a greater treasure is thy kiss; Thy loom, much higher than a royal throne; Thy brow an altar, O Penelope!
Mortals and gods know only one more priceless Than thine own loom, thy forehead, or thy kiss: Thy mate, the king thou always longest for, Penelope. Yet even though strange lands Keep him away from thee, and distant wars, And monstrous Scyllas, and the guileful Sirens, Not even they can blot him from thy soul, Him, thy thought's whitest light, Penelope!
A NEW ODE BY THE OLD ALCAEUS
To Lesbos' shores, where the year's seasons always Sprinkle the field with flowers, and where glad The rosy-footed Graces always play With the young maidens, once the stream of Hebrus, Hand-like, brought Orpheus' orphan lyre; and since That time, our island is a sacred shrine Of Harmony, and its wind's breath, a song!
The soul Aeolian took up the lyre Born upon Thracian lands, as foster child; And on its golden strings the restless beatings Of Sappho's and Erinna's flaming hearts Were echoed burningly.
And I, who fight Always against blind mobs and tyrants deaf, I, the pride of the chosen few, the stay Of the great best, returning from exile, A billow-tossed world-wanderer, did stir The selfsame lyre with a new quill and breathed Upon its strings a new heroic breath.
Upon the love-adorned and verdant island, Like a god's trident, now Alcaeus' quill Wakens the storm of sounds, and angrily He strikes with words that are like poisoned arrows Direct and merciless against his foe, Whether a Pittacus or Myrsilus.
In vain did tender love reveal before me On rose-beds Lycus, the young lad, with eyes And hair coal-black, with rosy garlands bound, And Sappho of the honeyed smile, the pure, A muse among the muses, and the mother Of a strange modesty. Love moved me not!
I raised an altar to the war-god Ares; And on my walls, I hung war ornaments, Weapons exulting in the battle's roar. I sang of the sword bound with ivory, My brother's spoil from distant Babylon. I saw my hapless country's ship tossed here And there, and beaten by the giant waves Of anarchy; and with my golden Lyre, Whose voice is mightier than the wild fury Of a tempestuous sea, I called on War, The War who revels in men's blood, to come As a destroyer or deliverer.
And when the war did come in savage din, Brought upon Lesbos by the might of Athens, With heart exultant, I saluted him: "Hail, war of glory!" Yet, alas and thrice Alas! Amidst the world of death and ruins, Though eager warrior and heavy armed, I felt the solid earth beneath me shake; My vengefulness, fade into fleeting mist; My breastplate, press on me like a nightmare; And my white-crested helmet, like a tombstone!
Confusion was my harbor; and I felt In me Life's longing win the victory. And while the nations twain, like maddened bulls Goad-driven, rushed upon each other's death, And stern Alecto spread about the flames Of Tartarus, I saw before mine eyes --O sight enchanting!--Lesbos' luring shores!
Never before were they so beautiful With love and verdant! There I gazed on Lycus, The boy with eyes and hair coal-black that never Before had touched my heart so powerfully. And the Muse Sappho of the honeyed smile Glittered before me, pure and violet crowned; And her strange modesty bewitched my tongue With power unwonted until then; and I, The strong, silently feasted on her beauty!
And while about the maddened Ares raged, Reaper of men and vanquisher of rocks, With my soul's eyes, I followed on the trail Of the Lyre-God, who passed that way, returning From the Hyperboreans' land. He passed Aloft, crowned with a golden diadem, Upon a chariot drawn by snow-white swans, Towards his Delphic palaces, flower-decked, With nightingales and April on his train.
Oh, would that I might live to touch them! Would That I might hold their charms in my embrace, Those charms so sweet and guileful and divine!
And at the thought--alas, and thrice alas!-- I threw my trusted sword and shield away, And fled, a shameful coward and a traitor!
FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN 1899
_IMAGINATION_
_Imagination, mistress, come! Come thou leading master, mind! And you, O tireless workers, come, Water-Fairies of the Rhythm! Come, and from Desire's great depths, And from the Reason's lofty heights, Bring, oh bring me lasting flowers Wrought on marble and on gold! Bring me words of splendid sound! Build with them the palace high! And within it raise aloft The Sun's image all-transcending Wrought of sunlight gleaming bright!_
THE GODS
And the first-born man beheld The sun rise in the east; And from within his bosom lo, A stream of music rose, An answer sweet to the sun's light, A music stream of hymns, Countless words and countless praises To the fountain of the day! And--O miracle!--all hymns And countless words and praises Spread in waves from end to end! And taking flesh in time, They became great gods of light And signs of harmony!
MY GOD
Wounded with the mighty love Of my mistress Life, I wander on, her loyal herald And her worshipper. To thy mystic suppers call Me not, O Galilean, Prophet of the misty dream, Denier of things that are! Crowned with lotus, show me not Nirvana's senseless bliss! Yet, do thou, O Sun, shine forth About, within, above; Shine upon my love and make A world of the Earth planet! Shine life-giving with thy light, O my Sun and God!
HELEN
_... She gave not me, but made a breathing image Of the light air of heaven and gave that To royal Priam's son! And yet he thought That he had me--a vain imagining!..._
EURIPIDES, _Helen_, 33-36.
Helen am I! In the Sun's fountain Have I taken birth! I am the Sun-god's golden dream, And unto him I go! Not about me, but about Mine image, which the gods Had wrought, life's perfect counterfeit, Recklessly gods and heroes Plunged into war and war's destruction! For the Cimmerian Enchanter carried far away As his own mate my shade Thrice-beautiful, that rose to life From Night's embrace in an Enchanted land and hour. I am The bride intangible, Inviolable, beyond all reach! Helen am I!
THE LYRE
I know a lyre that is as priceless As a sacred amulet; A spirit with a master hand Made it and cast it here. No mortal hand of skill or love Or power rouses it, Nor makes it answer to the touch With sound or voice or sigh. Even the wise and beautiful, The northwind and the breeze Cannot awaken the sweet lyre! Only the Sun-god's beams, They with one kiss alone can make Its sun-enamored strings Sing Siren-like!
GIANTS' SHADOWS
Like moanings of the sea, I hear Voices ascend from darkness: Are they the giants' shadows moving? --Shadow, who art thou? Speak! --I am the Telamonian! And see, within me I Close the whole sun that never sets Though Hades yawn about; Weep not for me! --And thou beside him? --The heart of Teutons' land Brought me to life. A maker, I, Maker sublime of worlds Olympian, have even here In Tartarus' dark realm One longing for my heart, one thirst: I long and thirst for light!
THE HOLY VIRGIN IN HELL
The chariot moves, drawn by wings Of Cherub Spirits, on! In Hell, the Holy Virgin gleams! "Mercy, O sunlike Lady!" The damnèd cry and beat their breasts Amidst the flames that burn, Fed by the great abyss. Among them, A sudden proud complaint Is heard: "A worshipper was I Of the great Sun; was this A cause for night to fetter me? Tell me, O sunlike Lady! The light of life I sucked, did that Become the Hell's embrace And Satan's kiss for me?"
SUNRISE
The white swans gently drag their boats Of ivory; bright beams Glimmer as through a veil of agate; And coral-wrought, the crowns Shine on fair locks like amber gleaming. A pearl lake dreamlike lives With water lilies studded. Azure-browed Fairies revelling Quaff wine of honey gold; And mighty riders steal away With brides thrice-beautiful. But thou, an archer mightier, Risest unmaking all The multitudes of binding charms With the one charm of light, O God of wing-sped chariot!
DOUBLE SONG
The lithesome maiden stood thrice-fair, Her eyes like gems agleam! "I pour the crimson wine of love In empty cups of gold!" --"Maiden, I am the nestless bird; Flowery boughs bar not My way. Bound for bright suns magnetic, I sail through darkness blind. Seer am I and worshipper Of all that is and lives! I am the harp of thousand strings Of countless sounds!" --"Thou blind! Seest thou not within mine eyes The magnetism and glory Of all the suns?"
THE SUN-BORN
On great Olympus, a feast of joy! The gods divide the earth; The light-bestower is away; Forgotten he will be. And the light-giver came and nodded To the blue sea; and lo, The sea was rent with fruitful heave! And the Sun's island rose With a thousand beauties crowned; And makers lived upon the island, Beings above all men; And they made statues masterful, All beautiful like gods And living as immortals live!
ON THE HEIGHTS OF PARADISE
The little house I built for thee To dwell therein, enchanter, Even that--to my care-bent grief-- Becomes a heavy grave. Yet, little soul of lily whiteness, Spare me thy sad complaint; For on the heights of paradise, I wander longing and I search. I search and wait for it. And on the crossroads wide Of the suns, I shall find a house Snow-white that even eagles High-flying never face; a house That Visions great alone May touch. Therein I shall enthrone thee!
THE STRANGER
When first the vaulting palm-leaves spread Their shelter over thee, The golden Cyclads danced about With merry shouts and laughter. But now,--O nakedness of plains And mountains! Withering Of green leaves everywhere! Thorns suck The green blood of the vines! No April looked on thee again; And on the desert land, The wars of elements and beasts Rage furious. But thee The snow-white swans bring back no more; Thou art for ever guest At the Hyperboreans' feast.
AN ORPHIC HYMN
Far from the footpaths of the thoughtless, An Orphic priest and bard, I bring to light again a hymn Of a thrice-ancient cult. For until now my thought flowed on, A river under earth. Amidst men's tumult my lyre's rhythm, A sudden wonder rose. At night I start, at night I climb The mountain difficult; I wish alone and first to greet Light Apollonian While among mortal men below Darkness and sleep shall reign.
THE POET
Sun made the lily white, The glory of the flowery earth; Sun made the swan, which is The lily of a life white-winged; The eagle, whom he lures Spell-bound to his great heights, And the gold shimmer of the moon, The lovers' loving comrade. And then he dreamed a creature fuller Of lilies, eagles, swans, and shimmers, And made the poet. He Alone beholds thee face to face, O God; and he alone, Reaching into thy heart, reveals To us thy mysteries.
KRISHNA'S WORDS
I am the light within the sun, The flush within the fire; And on the page of the sacred book, I am the mystic word. The men of mighty deeds call me Glory; the wise men, wisdom. Of things existing and of truth, I am the fountain head! I am the life of all that is! Beings and pearls are bound Together with one thread; and that, Is I! Maya alone, The sorceress, behind me follows Beguiling me. But I Battle with her to victory!
THE TOWER OF THE SUN
Away beyond the world's far edge, And where the heavens end, The tower of the sun shines bright Dazzling the mortal's mind. Once mighty princes, sons of kings, Went on a chase most wonderful, And stopped at the Sun's tower. And the Sun came, the dragon star, The giant merciless! Woe unto him who lingers there By the far heavens' end! And the Sun came; and with his spell, He turned them into stones, The princely hunters, sons of kings!
No azure field, no streak of green, No shadow, and no breath! Only a death of light and lightning Glitters about and gleams! And in the tower, in and out, As if by masters set, A world of statues voiceless stand, The offsprings of great kings. And from their deep and smothered eyes, Something like living glance Struggles to peep through its stone veil! It seems the stone-bound princes Wait for a sail, long lingering, From the world's shores away.
And thou, O princess beautiful, Camest from far away, A fair Redeemer! The Sun's tower Gleamed forth as if the light Of a new Dawn embraced its walls. Thou knowest where Life's Fountain Flows, and thou searchest silently, With steps that slowly move Towards the fountain tower-guarded where Life's water flows. And lo, Taming the watchful dragon's fangs, Thou drawest from the fountain Where the sweet water of Life flows on; And sprinkling them with it, Thou wakest up the sons of kings! And on thy homeward trail, Thou shinest with transcending gleam, Like a far greater Sun!
A MOURNING SONG
No! Death cannot have taken thee! In the sweet hour of love, The Sun-god lifted thee away, O child of sunlike beauty! He took thee to his palaces To fill thee with his love, A love that lives in light and is An endless glittering! Flowers with light-born fragrances And fruits as sweet as light, The Sun will pluck for thee; and he Will bathe thee in a stream Flooded with light. And clad In a white robe of light, my child, Thou wilt come back to me, Riding on a star-crowned deer!
PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN
Each time the dawn reveals thy face, Each time the darkness hides thee, Before the eyes of all the world, In crimson red thou shinest, Father and God blood-revelling! A bath in blood immortalizes Thine unfathomed beauty! Blood feeds and veils thee, Father And God blood-revelling! To quench thy thirst, we offer thee Our only children's lives; And if their blood fills not thy thirst, We spread for thee a sea Of all the blood of our own heart!
THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN
Where temples sounded with hosannas, Stones lie dumb in crumbling ruins; And forgetfulness has swept Dreams and phantoms once called gods. Even you are gone, O myths, Golden makers of the thought, Gone beyond return! In the empty Infinite, Blind laws drive in multitudes Flaming worlds of endless depths. And yet neither gold-haired Phoebus, Who is dead, nor yet the sun, Who now lives a world-abyss, None, God or law, upon this earth Could save us or will ever save Either from the claws of love Or from the teeth of death!
MOLOCH
Barbarians defile the land Where the Greek race was born! And where the loves flew garlanded, Night-bats roam to and fro! And in our night, as a glowworm, The ancients' memory Sends forth its greenish counterfeit Of light! It is a night That our undying sun cannot Dispel with its bright beams! From depths and heights, barbarians Suck soul and fatherland! And when with a low moan thrice-deep, We ask thee, Grecian God, "Art thou the golden-haired Apollo?" Grimly thou answerest, "Moloch, am I!"
ALL THE STARS
When I first looked with wonderment On thee, O Muse of Light, The morning star upon thy brow Shone with bright glittering. And I said: "More of light I need!" And as I looked again On thee, O Muse of Light, the moon Shone brightly on thy brow. And "More!" I said and looked again: And saw the sun agleam! But still insatiate I am, And wait to look on thee When on thy brow, O Muse of Light, The star-spun sky shall shine!
ARROWS
Thou earnest, Phoebus, lower down From pure Olympus' heights Towards the land where idle men And sluggards worthless dwell; And on thy lyre thou playedst, Fountain Of flowing harmonies! The deaf made answer with their sneers! The blind, with scornful laughter! And then to rid the world of filth And purify the air, Thou threwest away thine angry lyre; And turning archer, thou, With fiery arrows smotest all The flocks of fools away!
VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE 1900
_THE BEGINNING_
_A wedding guest, I travel far abroad! The bride, thrice beautiful; the groom, a wizard; And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast. The land is far, and I must travel on; An endless path before me leads away, But till I reach the end, I check the ardor Of my swift-footed stallion silver-shod, And wisely shorten my way's weary length With sounds that, like sweet longings, wake in me, Old sounds familiar, low-whispering Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows. Then flowers pour their fragrances for me; And blossoms with no scent have their own speech, The speech of voiceless eyes that open wide; Unconsciously I speak my words in rimes That with uncommon measure echo forth The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses That the waves squander on the sandy beach, And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips!_
THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK
Upon the graceless river bank that spread Barren and desert, all things drooped in sickness; And I, with palsy stricken, lay in pains! Vainly my hands shook feather-like with fever; Methought my feet were nailed upon the ground; The river, wide and wild; and far beyond, As far as eyes could see, the other bank Revelled in lusty growth and endless mirth With leafy slopes and forests glistening! Meadows unreaped and glades untrod were there, And floods of green and tempests of new blossoms! About the tree-tops glittered crowns of light; Shadows thrice-deep hid mysteries divine; And all descended blindly to the bank Where the wild river's anger held them back, Seeking, it seemed, a ford to come across To the dark bank of wilderness and torture!
And toward me all seemed to stretch their hands, Sending me shameless kisses as I lay Parched by the burning wind and worn with fever. Nearby a sun-dried reed poured forth its sighs; And farther, a small laurel stirred its leaves: The double treasure of my wilderness.
I wished to cut a flute from the dry reed And wished a crown of laurel; but I lay Nailed down immovable as if the rod Of an enchantress evil-born had touched me; And within me, with wings of impotence, My wounded mind fluttered on hopelessly!
And then thou camest girt with working garb; With girdle flower-spun, with apron full Of fruits, didst thou bend over me. The spell Thou didst dispel and gavest me to eat And cleansedst me with myrrh; and suddenly, A soul divine and merciful came down On the bank merciless; and in thine arms Lifting me gently, thou didst go forth Amidst a moaning as of humming bees. Thou stoodst on the threshold of the peasant hut, The hut that was earth-built and filled with grass As if the art of a small bird had wrought it.
Thou didst lay me upon a bed at dusk That I might rest; and mingled with sweet care And innocence, thou didst lean by my side With body ripe and beautiful. Wert thou A lover, mother, sister, or a woman? Thou didst lay on my brow thy hand to lull me; And in thy thoughtful face, I saw the gleam Of kindly Nausica and good Rebecca.